


Acina of the Silver Wood

by portraitoftheartist



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, I suck at tagging can you tell?, Why Did I Write This?, bc i can, i guess, implied kelland, spoilers if you're STILL reading the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitoftheartist/pseuds/portraitoftheartist
Summary: "The Silver Wood," he said. "Some say it was the place where magic died." After a moment he added, "Others think it's nothing, has never been anything but an old grove of trees."Despite his words, Holland knew deep down, that the Silver Wood was more than what they say. He knew it would be the place where magic will come alive once again.
Relationships: Kell Maresh/Holland Vosijk
Kudos: 7





	Acina of the Silver Wood

**Author's Note:**

> for the holland gc and pain <3
> 
> i reread the last bits of acol and ended up hurting my feelings, i'm sorry i used That quote (i had to)
> 
> I listened to All Delighted People by Sufjan Stevens as I wrote this, that’s my song suggestion.

_The Someday King_.

 _That_ was the name of the stories and the myths.

The same ones Holland grew up with. The stories he would seek out whenever his city experienced yet another death of an innocent one, another fresh blood, another king, another life.

It was the story of better days to come, power to be restored, a name of hope and light. It was everything the White London needed, _but only limited to words and a title_.

Life in White London was not easy. This was the first thing you’d learn. The struggles would start during your birth and only increase in time. Each day a new challenge, a new page of survival, another “ _Will_ it _happen today_?” asked. Happiness was as rare as stable magic in White London. A fact everyone learnt to live with. What else could’ve been done when even the simplest acts of magic was a vile chore? And so Holland learnt at an age too early, that life could exist without the good in it.

Maybe it’s for the better. It’s familiar, in a sense. There are no surprises. Nothing to throw you off, catch you off guard. The Grimm and the dread feels numb after a while. Holland learns to grow used to it too.

The first betrayal comes with _Alox_. In a city filled with people hungry for magic, even a drop of it, it _is_ expected. It is one of the rare times he is caught off guard, but when he looks back on the memory, he ascribes it to his young age.

Then comes _Talya_. And with her comes a little change. Such things as comfort and safety make themselves known in Holland’s life. Followed by happiness, Holland tastes something he never thought was possible in the icy cold of White London. As his definition of life and regular change, so does his familiarity with everything around him.

A brand new page, a different kind of hope.

These make the inevitable end all the more painful. But the pain brings a comfort of its own. _Of being known._

* * *

Change, has always been an everlasting part of the White London. The changing of the power, the reigns, the shift in dynamics and relationships. The only thing that never changes is the dull color of the world and the sky, the piercing cold and the hanging despair in the air. It feels so long ago that life _used to_ be different. Beaming with magic and power. It feels unreal, just like the tales of the _Someday King._ After her, things go back to how they once were. Her death doesn’t awaken any change in White London that day but it pokes at something inside Holland. He withdraws more after that day.

As he returns to the routine of the same blinding days in White London, he realizes he has missed _this_ a little. Having to let go off the only thing in his life that resembled happiness feels heavy on his shoulders, but not on his soul. The happiness of it drove him to worry for more, and made him drop his guard too. A mistake he promises never to repeat again.

And so he returns to the typical life of White London, where everyone suffers equally and constantly; where pain becomes the norm here, having to rely on primal instincts and doing your hardest to beat everyone at everything, anything. With the touch of care and light gone, _gone with her,_ Holland goes back to suffering like everyone else.

The rest of White London would beg to differ, say _he_ is not _one of them_ and never will be. Cast out from early ages of his life, marked with the inking black of his eye, the mark of _Antari,_ Holland is always in a separate cell. In a way the people of White London are right; Holland is not like them, never will be again. He will never taste the same hunger as them or experience fear as them, and unlike _them_ he will suffer like no one else, for _no one will ever suffer as beautifully as Holland Vosijk._

* * *

Then Vortalis will knock on the door to Holland’s life. Failed attempts following one another, it is better to talk to him and stay on the ground with him, than to kill him; if he could ever kill him. A new kind of hope comes into Holland’s heart with Vortalis. Not the fairy tale kind _, like the Someday King carries_ ; but a new one for his world’s magic. When Vortalis becomes king _, and Holland_ his _knight_ , it is apparent how different they are compared to the previous reigns. Not a sudden change in behavior or looks, no acts of selfish reasons; they try and try and _try_ , for London _, for magic_. Maybe the Someday King will never come, maybe there are decades for him to come; but until then they are here in his place, to do whatever they can for the balance and well being of their world, their home.

Alas, all good things come to an end; something Holland had to learn by experience, twice in a row now.

When the Danes come, so does change. And short after, comes _him._

Holland has gotten a look at him before but this is the first time he has _truly_ sees him. The _Aven Vares_ of Red London, the blessed prince. The pink pearl of the treasure chest. Holland looks carefully and observes. And all he can see in Kell Maresh is everything Red London is to White London. Kell blinks and Holland sees the gates shut down ages ago. Kell walks and he can smell the lingering scent of roses. The blue of his eyes show Holland a sky he will never see in his home. With his each step, his red coat kisses the air, too vibrant for his faded world.

Holland looks at Kell Maresh and all he can see his the selfish world that abandoned _his._ It wouldn’t be a surprise to say that Holland didn’t like Kell from the first time he saw him but unfortunately this would be false information. As much as he wanted to dislike him and despite him, Holland didn’t have it in himself. Deep down he knew the _Antari_ of Red London couldn’t be hold responsible for the things _they_ had done. But wouldn’t it be so much _easier_ to hate him? To channel all his frustrations through him and the image of him? Yet what he felt wasn’t one but close to it. Holland didn’t know what to name it but it was clear there was no dislike or hatred for the young rose bud.

With Voltaris gone, the Danes are _cherry on top_. Each day a torment of its own. With the first kill, came the second, and one after that; it was never easy, it never would be. He wanted to fight back, desperately. But all he could do was to obey and carry out their orders, watch everything Voltaris had worked so hard for crumble. The Danes would play _ost_ sometimes and make Holland watch. Athos would seek out a man to resemble Holland with looks and make _him_ a part of the game too. Seeing the slightest change of expression, tiniest bit of emotion in Holland would delight them both; and all Holland could think of is to wish he was in that man’s place, for there was an end to it all. A finishing blow, a light at the end of the tunnel. What made Holland ache more was the knowing, that the man wouldn’t have suffered as much or as early at their hands if he looked a little different. Just another pawn in their games, targeting Holland.

* * *

Time only grows duller; more encounters with the young _Antari,_ too kind for his own good, always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong; the body count Holland keeps for the Danes increasing, their deaths never getting ordinary, seeing the light leave their eyes always haunting his memories.

Life, full of dread and pain and never truly free, yet Holland finds himself holding onto it some days.

That night in the alley, a part of him hopes Kell lands the finishing blow, he should’ve remembered it is never that simple to kill their kind.

* * *

Another day of waking up, to a pitch black world this time. Yet something has changed, he can feel it, or the lack of its presence. He is almost upset he didn’t get to kill the twins.

He never hurried to celebrate, for he can’t break free of the chains. They’re changed and the leash held by someone new now. But it’s worth it, to see his city bloom finally, to see the sky gain color just like his cheeks do, the air not as cold and heavy, the sun shines like his hair does.

Bound tight by yet another force, much stronger this time, but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. The happiness of seeing his world change is eases the agony. Maybe he can hold on and keep _Osaron_ at bay until _he_ comes, the promised one he hoped for all his life.

No matter how long it has been, the tales provide a sense of solace. A trinket of hope; one he will always need, _he fears._

* * *

As things draw near to an end, he does what must be done, what _he must;_ for the sake of his world and the others. So he does what _Red_ never did right, and he does it for everyone.

When Kell takes him back to where it all began, _the Silver Wood_ , Holland feels comfort again and warmth spreads through his chest. His world still cold and as Kell leaves, he stands in the middle of it, alone. In the boy’s eyes, he feels the countless of times he was there, acts of kindness and gratitude; maybe Kell could never truly understand Holland’s pain, but his eyes told him he understood some of it, and suffered with him every time he looked at him. As he sags back against the nearest tree, Kell’s eyes never leave him. He can still feel his touch on his hand, his warmth and care. He can still smell the roses and see the sky. Kell was someone he could never name accordingly, perhaps he never wanted to label his feelings toward the boy in the red coat; but Holland would be a fool to pretend he never liked Kell, to act like he meant nothing. In his left hand, lays the the red _lin_ he left behind.

As the leaves rustle and the woods let out a tune of its own, sing the song of a tale long gone, a cheer for _the Someday King._ The wood whispers and Holland hears it say: _The King is coming._

All the dots connect, all the strings tied together, no loose ends, no gaps. _He understands_.

Holland Vosijk breaths out one last time and he feels his world breath in the air he let out. As he fades away, the world starts to bloom. And with one last breathe, he becomes _one_ with his home.

* * *

_Anoshe_ lingers in the back of Kell’s mind and whenever he sees an _acina_ , _his_ green eyes flood his heart.


End file.
